A Series of Unfortunate Events
by ProtoZivot
Summary: Chris Halliwell inherited his Aunt Prue's powers, pride, determination...and luck with psychopaths. Darrel seeks out Chris's help with a case he believes to be demonic. Chris agrees to help out but nothing goes to plan. UNDER SERIOUS RECONSTRUCTION
1. Teaser

Disclaimer: I do NOT own any part of Charmed or its blessed characters.

And on with the teaser of the story. This will be a multi-chapter story and I will update real soon, like tomorrow soon.

* * *

Darrel slammed his fists on the table. "Where IS he?" he yelled.

The man across from him merely chuckled. "Well my dear Inspector Morris that answer depends on whether he was naughty or nice."

Darrel felt his throat constrict with fear. Oh God. "If you—if you so much as harmed a hair on his head I—"

"You'll what Inspector Morris. Kill me. Go ahead; strangle me with your bare hands if you want. I already got what I want." A lump rose in Darrel's throat at the man's words. "I got to watch the boy's fear consume him as he realized he was going to die. I got to watch him beg and plead for his life, to scream for someone who will never hear him or come to his aid—"

"Shut up. Just shut up." Darrel ground out as his eyes began to burn. He stood up forcefully and yanked open the door.

"You will find him Inspector Morris. I have faith in you." Darrel stopped as the man paused. "But," the man laughed, "by the time that you do our dear little Christopher will already be dead."

Darrel closed his eyes against the tears and shut the door.

* * *

M'kay. I guess it was really mean to tease y'all but I wanted to publish something and this was what I had. Its just the start though.

I'd really love to hear all your thoughts, even critical ones, so please Press the button to review. Thanks.

Oh yeah this was not read by a beta reader so I take full credit for all errors. :)


	2. Departure

Disclaimer: I. Still. Do. Not. Own. Charmed. Darn.

AN: Um, I have never and will not ever be on a plane or in an airport of any kind. I also pay very little attention to details like this anywhere so if I got it totally wrong please feel welcome to inform me. Thank you.

All mistakes are mine

All types of reviews are welcome :)

_Five days earlier…_

"Honey, I really don't like the idea of leaving you alone. I mean, you may not even be able to call any of us sometimes." Chris sighed listening to his mother fret as he helped her pack her bags. "Really, honey, maybe I should stay. You won't be able to call your Aunt Paige, or Uncle Coop, or even Wyatt if he's Up There—"

"Mom." Chris cut in, "You're going."

"But—"

"No. No buts. This is a big deal for you. The opening of the first Magic Hour on the east coast, you have got to be there. Besides I'm seventeen now I think I can handle a week by myself."

Piper had, eventually, achieved her dream of owning a restaurant. In fact, in addition to P3, she owed a whole chain of restaurants, Magic Hour, all along the west coast and Midwest. And this upcoming week was the opening week of several newly built restaurants on the east coast. Piper and Leo were flying out to each one for their opening nights and would be gone all week.

A lull in demonic activity (a _huge_ lull) had prompted Paige to take her husband and their three kids on vacation in New Zealand. The vacation was under a strict 'Do Not Interrupt Unless It Is A Dire Emergency' code, and they wouldn't be back until next week. Unfortunately for Piper, the circumstances playing out so she would have to leave her second born home alone for a week did not fall under the Dire Emergency category. The lull had also inspired Phoebe to take her family with her on her business trip to Hong Kong, and then join Paige in New Zealand before flying back to San Francisco.

Wyatt was currently on a more unpleasant trip of his own. Having reached his eighteenth birthday he was presently being trained to wield Excalibur by Tristan, an elder, Up There. As such he was unable to heed any call from any family members.

Even Chris's grandfather, Victor Bennet, was out of the country on a business trip in Sweden for the next three weeks.

"I know and I'm really excited, but I'm also really worried about leaving you alone, especially with you power problems right now," Piper said.

Chris sighed again. Before the blessed demon lull there had been an oh-so splendid battle that ended with him and Phoebe trapped in the lair of a demon who happened to have the ability to absorb others powers through touch, much like Chris's own power. Before Chris and Phoebe were rescued the demon had managed to absorb all of Chris's powers and most of Phoebe's. Even after the demon was vanquished Chris's and Phoebe's powers were still wonky. It had taken weeks for them to return, and even now, a month later, Chris's orbing and telekinesis weren't up to par. He could only move light objects and orb in place, but they were coming back even if it was slowly.

"_Mooom _we've talked about this. I am seventeen now and entirely capable of holding down the fort by myself for a week. There is a major lull in demon activity _and _you've practically demon proofed the house. There are spells that scream personal gain blocking evil from getting in, there is a crystal barrier around every room and my bed, every room is stocked with hidden potions and athames, and you've got Darrel convinced he needs to check in on me every hour on the hour. I will be fine, but if you keep up this pointless fretting you and Dad are gonna miss your plane." Piper shook her head and opened her mouth. Chris pressed a finger to her lips and continued talking. "I know you want me to go with you, and that you would feel better if I did. I know how worried you are, but you know that I need to stay here. Someone has to be at the manor with the book, we can't leave it unprotected. Besides someone needs to keep an eye on Cathy; I don't think that woman knows what half the stuff in Grand Design is."

Piper smiled, "You're right, wouldn't want Cathy selling oregano as basil huh." She chuckled, "And knowing her she probably would. I'll never understand why Paige hired that girl."

Chris smirked, "Neither will I. Now come on; you have a plane to catch and since I have to drive ya to the airport we need to leave like now."

**00:00**

The trip to the airport, with Chris driving, took about one half the usual time, so Piper and Leo actually found themselves waiting for their flight.

"I thought you said we were going to be late," Piper griped as she shifted in the uncomfortable chair.

Chris grinned lazily and propped his feet up on the chair next to him. "No. I said if you kept arguing you were going to be late, but you stopped so you weren't."

Piper stared at him. "I swear to god, Chris, if I wasn't leaving you'd be grounded for that comment."

"Come on children, play nice." Chris leaned back and stuck his tongue out at his father. Leo smiled and leaned across Piper to pat Chris on the head. "You know, son, in some cultures that is considered a gesture of affection."

Chris retracted his tongue. "You know, Dad, in my culture you're like a walking, talking encyclopedia of weirdness."

'_Flight 666 to New York now boarding at port C_' sounded over the intercom.

Chris stood up, "O.K. that's you."

"Are you sure you'll be ok by yourself, peanut? I'm sure Paige or Phoebe won't mind coming home a few days early," Piper asked yet again worry tingeing her voice.

"Mom, I'll be fine. I promise, okay. Just enjoy yourself and bask in your triumph 'kay."

Piper nodded as she tearfully hugged her son goodbye. "Just be sure call us often and if you need anything at all, okay."

"Of course, Mom."

She hugged him tight and whispered in his ear, "I love you. Be careful."

"I love you too, Mom." Chris detached himself and hugged Leo.

"Goodbye son. I love you." Leo leaned over and whispered conspiratorially in his son's ear. "Be careful, but try and enjoy the time to yourself 'kay." Chris grinned as Piper glared at her husband. "You too, Dad."

Piper hugged her second born again as Leo gathered their bags. "We'll be back before you know it. Be careful."

"Bye. Enjoy yourselves. Stay safe." Chris said as he ushered his parents on their way.

"You be safe." Piper called back.

Be careful, stay safe, and be safe. Simple words that all the Halliwell family members said whenever they spoke. Even three year old Peri said them. Always, because in the Halliwell family one never knew if the words might be the last thing they said to one another.

_"You too." _He waved as they disappeared from sight.

Chris spun on his heel and walked toward the exit to head home. Finally he would be alone. The very thought was enticing, an entire week to himself. He paused getting the vague sense that he was forgetting something. Glancing around behind him he shrugged seeing nothing, pushed open the door and left.

None of them realized Leo's cell phone sitting forgotten on the chair he had occupied earlier.

There you have it chapter two… Review please…


	3. Sunday

**Disclaimer: I do not own Charmed, any part of it…at all. Nothing nada…**

**So after an entirely to long wait…I bring you, wait for it,…Sunday! **

**AN: I'm not sure how touchy people are so I'm just gonna give a fair warning that there is a murder scene in here…nothing to bad though…just a thought 'kay…so**

**Enjoy as always…and please R&R **

**Chapter 2: SUNDAY**

Chris opened his eyes groggily. What the heck? He looked at the clock—11:30. Chris stuffed his head under the pillow. Too early to get up.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring*

Chris blinked realizing that phone was ringing, and was probably what had awakened him in the first place. He crawled out of bed, cursing the fact that he couldn't orb, jogged downstairs and answered, yawning, with a muffled 'hello'.

"Chris?" the voice said, sounding through the phone.

"mhhuh."Chris said stifling another yawn.

"Chris, this is Darrel." There was a short pause, "Did I wake you up?"

"Ahhuh."

"Chris it's almost noon," Darrel remarked.

"So? I'm a teenage boy with a house to myself. I can sleep as much as I want," said Chris.

"Right. What about Grand Design? I don't think Paige will like it if I tell her you kept her store closed or left it in the hands of Cathy," Darrel teased.

"No, she wouldn't. But it's Sunday and GD is closed on Sundays, so I can sleep as much as I want. Did you call just to ruin my siesta day or did you have a purpose?"

Darrel paused. "I need your help."

"My help?" Chris repeated. "With a case?"

"Yes. No one else is here and only you and Phoebe have the vision powers. Now we know—"

"No, no…I don't want to know." Chris said rubbing his forehead. "You can fill me in when I get there. What's the address?"

"101 Whitney St. How soon can you be here?" Darrel said.

"Don't know. I'll have to drive so…"Chris replied trailing off.

"Right, your mom said something about your powers being down."

"Yep they're on a fritz. Work when they want to, not when they're supposed to yaddy yaddy ya. Actually the only ones functioning at all are my psychometry and my orbing and telekinesis a bit. _But_ according to the Elders everything should come back with time."

"I see. Well at the very least you can give your professional opinion. I'll see you soon." Darrel said and hung up.

Chris pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. "Well goodbye to you too Darrel," he said dropping it back in the jack. First thing first, he thought yawning. Coffee.

**00:00**

Darrel sighed in relief as he saw Piper's Grand Jeep Cherokee pull up and watched as Chris slammed the door closed. The brunette ducked fluidly under the yellow tape, carrying two cups of coffee, and smoothly ignoring the protests of a cop.

"Hey!"

"Hey kid, you can't be here," the cop stated reaching out to grab Chris's arm.

Chris looked up as if just noticing the cop, "Oh. Hello Mr. uh, Sands." He said glancing at the cop's name. "I'm here to see Inspector Morris. Could you point me in the right direction, please?"

"Kid. I don't know who you are, but if you don't vacate this premise immediately I'll have someone personally escort you off."

Chris blinked at him.

"Whoa. Hey, Sands. He's with me." Darrel said saving Chris from having to respond.

Sands looked between Chris and Darrel releasing Chris's arm. "Ahh… is this your little psychic helper? Eh Darrel?" Sands smirked at Chris. "So tell me psych boy—"

"Your favorite color is purple, you are an outdoors man, you have a golden retriever and a tabby cat, your wife's name is Jessica—"

"Oh, okay," Darrel said butting in quickly pulling Chris away from an astonished looking Sands. "What the heck do you think you are doing?" he whispered fiercely.

"What?" Chris scoffed. "So I'm enlightening the mind of a skeptic. It's not like I was telling him anything he didn't already know."

"I mean are you trying to expose magic or something, and I thought your powers were on hiatus?" Darrel demanded, continuing as if Chris hadn't spoken.

"Relax, Darrel. No I'm not, and yes they are," Chris drawled. Chris spun around quickly walking back to Officer Sands.

"What?" Darrel said staring at the spot where Chris used to be in astonishment.

"Could you get rid of this for me?" Chris asked practically shoving the empty coffee cup of the two he was carrying in the officer's face. Sands gaped in surprise, automatically reaching up to take the cup.

"Thanks," Chris said flashing his winning smile at the officer. He jogged back to Darrel, taking a long drink from the surviving coffee cup.

Darrel glared at the young witch. "Then what was with that list of psyche stuff?" he growled referring to their earlier conversation.

Chris held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, don't give yourself a hernia man." When the Inspector leveled Chris with a pointed gaze the teen sighed and elaborated. "They were all guesses."

"Guesses?" Darrel said surprised.

"Yes. Educated guesses. His hands were roughly calloused, indicating hard work most likely outside. There were long gold hairs on his coat, most likely from a dog, a golden retriever, and the cat thing I just added for the heck of it."

"You're too smart for your own good. You know that right?" said the Inspector.

"Tis what everyone tells me," Chris said smirking.

"And the others?" Darrel prompted as they entered the house.

"Um," Chris said looking around, "assuming that Sands is in his mid-thirties and his wife is around the same age they were born in the nineteen-eighties…Jessica was in the top three most popular names in California throughout that decade…uhh, project in my Early Childhood Education class, nevermind. And the purple thing may have actually been a psychic—…whoa." Chris cut himself off pressing a hand to his head.

"What? Chris?" Darrel asked rescuing the precariously tipping coffee from the witch's hand and peering at the teen in concern.

" 'm fine," Chris answered voice strained. He clutched his head as the room positively _glitched, _shifting in and out of focus. Flashes of images ran through his psyche. Chris frowned attempting to sort through the information overload.

"What is it, Chris?"

"Why don't you fill me in first?" Chris asked blinking as the psychic vibes faded.

"How about you come up with your own scenario, then I tell you mine," said Darrel.

The witch shot Darrel a bemused expression, taking the coffee back from the inspector. "Darrel you're a mortal, how could you come up with a demonic scenario?"

"I never said my scenario was demonic, I said I had one."

"Wait you called me out here for a case you're not even sure isn't normal?" Chris said in disbelief.  
"Nothing about these murder cases is normal, and I wasn't gonna call you out but you volunteered to come here before I told you anything if you can recall."

"Nope" Chris said, "can't recall a thing." He took another gulp of his drink, frowning as he realized it was already half empty.

Darrel raised his eyebrows, "How many of those have you had?"

Chris shrugged taking another swallow of the Elixir of Waking Life, "Dunno. Five…six…I lost count after three."

Darrel sighed shaking his head. That kid was downright addicted to the stuff. Even worse than his Aunt Paige. "Just tell me what you can get," he said referring to the case.

Chris sighed, for now ignoring the psychometric vibes, focusing instead on the living space around him. The house had an open floor plan, a very open floor plan. The kind that leaves you wondering what room was what. Chris could stand in one spot and see the foyer, living room, dining room, kitchen, and office. There were three doors as far as he could see. Probably the bedroom, bathroom, and closet or guestroom. The home was organized so the occupant was probably a woman. Single or at least living alone judging by the style of décor, or possibly an incredibly whipped significant other. Most likely the former. There were heavy duty locks on all the doors recently replaced by the looks of it. Or neurotically cleaned and polished. Again most likely the former. Whoever she was, she had been scared. Deathly scared even before she had been well, dead.

The witch closed his eyes, quieted his breathing, and reached outward with his senses. He could feel fear, hurt, and pain. Despair blanketed the area, giving Chris the sensation of suffocating. He gasped as images flickered through his mind, sucking him in at the mercy of the emotions.

_Chris felt hot tears stream down his face as he fumbled to lock the door behind him. He sank down pressing a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the broken sobs sounding from his throat._

Chris felt his chest constrict as he was pulled deeper into the psychometric echoes of the house.

_Chris curled up as small as possible in the corner of the room sobbing quietly. The telephone rang from its perch on the table. Chris screamed and covered his ears with his hands. He pushed himself forward answering the phone. "STOP CALLING ME!"_

_Chris grinned sadistically enjoying the feeling of his prey's terror. He chuckled quietly, watching as the petite blonde smashed the phone in desperation. He smiled calling the girl's cell phone, and feeling a perverse sense of joy at the look of fear passing over the blonde girl's face._

_Chris felt a chill of fear run down his back as his cellular phone began to ring. With trembling hands he reached out and answered it. On the other end all he could hear was breathing. Chris gasped backing up with a whimper. 'Look up,' a rough voice rasped from the phone. Chris shut the phone dropping it and looked up. The rafters crisscrossing the high ceiling were cloaked in shadow. _

_Chris dropped down from the rafters silently, reaching out the grab the blonde woman._

_Chris screamed as a hand snaked its way of the darkness, covering his mouth. He spun around and hit the man in the chest. The man growled backhanding Chris. Chris dropped to the floor his vision blurring in pain and tried to crawl away. The man grabbed his ankle dragging him back. Chris screamed again kicking out, but the man easily overpowered him. Chris could feel his hot breath on his neck. Chris struggled, sobs tearing from his throat as he couldn't get free._

_Chris hauled the girl to her feet, slamming her into the wall. The girl broke away, trying to run. She cried out as Chris snagged her around the waist brutally throwing her backwards into the china cabinet. Chris picked up a piece of glass grinning at the girl's terror. Kneeling beside the stunned girl, Chris placed a hand over her mouth, and pulled up the girl's shirt dragging the shard of glass across her stomach before plunging it in. Hot blood welled up around Chris's hand._

_Chris screamed in pain, writhing in a pathetic and hopeless attempt to escape. The man pulled out a roll of duct tape putting a piece securely over Chris's mouth, before binding his hands and feet. The man stood and pulling Chris by his feet depositing him in the small closet. Chris gave a muffled scream as the man shut the door. Tears streamed from Chris's eyes as he felt the walls move in constricting his chest. He couldn't breathe. Pain radiated from everywhere, and the feelings of absolute terror and hopelessness were overwhelming. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't brea—_

**00:00**

Darrel watched Chris closely as the youth stood stock still in the middle of the room breathing slowly.

He'd been standing there for five minutes. Not moving. Not giving any signs of awareness at all. Darrel supposed that the reason might be because he _wasn't_ aware. But in all the times Darrel had asked the sisters and their children for help or seen Chris or Phoebe work their psychometric/premonition mojo, neither one had _ever _stood still for five, now six, whole minutes.

Darrel frowned, worry cutting though him, as Chris finally moved. His eyebrows furrowed together as if in pain, and his breathing turned harsh, and ragged.

"Chris?" Darrel said alarmed not knowing what to do. He should have just told the kid to give his professional demonic expertise opinion and skip the power stuff, because after all Chris _and_ Piper had told him that Chris's powers were a little wonky right now. And now here was Chris having some sort of psychic vibe attack with the closest witch who would know what to do being across the continent in freakin' New York.

"Chris?" Darrel repeated. He waved a hand in front of Chris's face.

"Chris? Christopher?" He said fear slicing thought him as tears began to leak from Chris's closed eyes. The teen stumbled backwards and Darrel reached out, grabbing Chris's shoulders to keep him from falling. What in the world? Darrel shook Chris harshly, trying to rouse him from the trance. "Chris? Come on."Darrel shook Chris again. Damnit Chris. Darrel took a deep breath, lowering the unresponsive boy to the floor, and soundly slapped him across the face.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Chris blinked, taking a deep breath. And then he blinked again. "What the hell?" he asked softly.

"You're asking me?" Darrel said. "What was that? Some sort of trance thingy—"

Chris waved his hand, "No, no. Why am I on the floor?"

Darrel blinked at Chris. "Nevermind the fact that you just had some sort of psychic vibe panic attack, you want to know why you're on the floor," he said hauling Chris to his feet. "You fell down, alright. Now will you tell me _why _you fell down?"

Chris nodded, looking around. "Uh…Did you hit me?" he asked rubbing his jaw.

"Yes…" Darrel said still waiting for his answer.

"I think it was a memory," Chris said.

"A memory."

"Yes and no. A kind of imprint on the atmosphere of the house. There's a theory that says everything we do leaves a mark on the space around us. An echo of sorts…like a memory," Chris explained.

"And you saw this…memory?" Darrel inquired.

"No," Chris whispered, "I lived it." Darrel stared at him confused. "She was found tied up in the closet, right? With a stab wound to her abdomen?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, she was," Darrel said.

"She was claustrophobic. I wonder if he knew that. Of course he did, he'd been watching her for days…" Chris mumbled moving around to peer up at the rafters on the ceiling.

"What?" Darrel said feeling completely left out of the loop.

"The man was stalking her Darrel." Chris stopped by a window, staring out lost in thought.

"So it's not demonic?"

"No. You were right. Not demonic," Chris answered absently.

"So this man. He stalked her, stabbed her, and locked her in a closet to die?"

Chris turned around looking Darrel in the eye. "Yes. That is exactly what he did. Was that your scenario?"

Darrel frowned. He didn't know whether or not to tell Chris everything. The murder wasn't demonic. He'd held doubts. That was what had drawn him to call Chris to begin with, but now that he knew for certain the crime hadn't been demons he didn't want do draw Chris into the cases to deeply. Chris was only seventeen after all.

"Darrel."

Darrel pulled the emergency brake on his thought train. "Chris…there have been others, other cases. Two others with the same MO, but whoever he is he's smart. We have next to nothing on him."

Chris nodded. "I saw him," he said slowly, "I can draw a picture."

"You can do that?"

"Darrel…please. I have an excellent memory and I'm an aspiring art student. I can draw a portrait sketch."

**00:00**

"Do you think you could drive a bit faster?" Piper snapped at the poor unsuspecting taxi driver.

"Piper, honey, it's not his fault," Leo said soothingly. Piper shot him an annoyed glare. Oh no it wasn't the drivers fault, but she needed _someone_ to yell at. She huffed pulling out her cell phone to check the time for the umpteenth time.

"We're already ten minutes late Leo." Piper pushed the door open quickly as the cab pulled up to the curb. "Come on Leo; move it." She shoved her phone back in her purse, not realizing that she missed the pocket.

The phone fell to the road landing in front of the rear wheel of the taxi.

Piper rushed up to the doors of her restaurant, Leo on her heels after paying the driver.

"Oh Mrs. Halliwell, you're here. It's such a pleasure to meet you," a woman gushed shaking Piper's hand. "Now the opening…"

The cab driver drove off.

**Again so sorry for the long wait. But I am currently writing about four different stories depending on which muse hits me when. Its kinda annoying actually.**

**Oh for anyone reading The Other Side: I am working on the next chapter and aim to update sometime this week hopefully…unless school or life gets in the way, so all of y'all can look forward to Chris and Wyatt's first day at Hogwarts.**

**I'll try and update this story asap as well. I'm thinking each day will be a chapter so there's around seven or so chapters left…well anyhoo…**

**Do you see that button down there, like in the middle of the screen…yeah that one…push it…please **


	4. Monday: Part I

**Chapter Three: Monday Part I**

**Disclaimer: Not my show. Sadly. Or this would totally be an episode. **

**So, after a extremely long wait that I am immensly sorry for I finally updated this story. See told you it wasn't abandoned. :) Anyway sorry again for the long wait. **

**AN: I know I said before each day was going to be a chapter...yeah no. Now there's parts. :) So this is Monday Part I.**

**AN: Magic Hour is Piper's restaurant; Grand Design is Paige's wiccan supply store. Hope that clears things up. **

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Chris twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door open stepping into his Aunt Paige's small store. With her vacation to New Zealand, Paige had entrusted the care of Grand Design to Chris and Cathy, the head employee. He turned the lights on heading to the back room of the store. The store was Paige's newest pet project, and Chris wondered how long it would stick around. Paige had a habit of being a little eccentric with her life, but Chris loved the store and hoped Paige wouldn't be getting rid of it in the near or distant future. He'd already decided that if she did choose to sell it he would, if able, obtain it for himself. After all it would only take a few dozen cookies and a bag of lollipops.

Chris pulled out the papers and started inventory, methodically checking each product. He started violently, dropping a box of white candles, when Cathy made her usual loud entrance. He noted absently she was fifteen minutes late, but he wasn't going to fuss. He knelt down picking up the candles he'd dropped. Groping under the shelf he mentally cursed himself for allowing himself to be startled like that. Finally snatching the candle, he sighed and put it with the others. He slid the box back into its place and continued inventory all the while ignoring Cathy as she prattled on about traffic this, and her niece that, and her husband blah, blah, blah. He didn't feel bad about ignoring the chatterbox. Everyone did, he knew of not one soul who actually listened to her. All you needed to do was nod and 'muhum' at regular intervals.

Inventory took up most of the next hour, and in the entire time Cathy had not once fallen silent for more time than it took her to take a drink. Chris sat down behind the counter and pulled out his sketch pad and pencils. He drew the pencils across the page doodling idly. He didn't know what to draw exactly. He continued drawing lines and was taken aback to see them form into a rough portrait of the man he'd drawn for Darrel. Chris stared at it a moment then tore it up and tossed in the trash.

He jumped at the bell chime when a customer walked in. It was one of GD's regular clients; Sherri, if he remembered rightly.

Chris swore quietly, picking up his dropped pencil. He had no idea why he was so nervous today. Wait, no that was a lie. He _knew_ why. He just didn't want to acknowledge it. He'd been jumpy since yesterday. The little trip down memory lane with the blonde woman, Karen Beecher, and the unknown sadistic stalker-murderer had shaken him up more than he first realized or wanted to admit. The feeling was only accentuated when he'd gone home to an empty house. But now in the light of day, and in the store with Cathy and Sherri the feeling seemed foolish. It wasn't as if the man knew about him and would now come after him. And if for some reason the man did, Chris would be more than a match for the guy even with his diluted powers. He hoped.

He watched silently as Sherri picked up her items chatting with Cathy. Chris rang her purchases up asking politely how she was and telling her that Paige was on vacation. Sherri left then and the rest of the time until Cathy's lunch break passed quietly with only two other customers.

"Just leave the sign on open. I'm staying here," Chris said.

"You sure, honey? You can have lunch with me if you'd like," Cathy asked. She really was a nice person, just a touch annoying at times.

Chris laughed lightly shaking his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm just not hungry today."

"Alright, I'll be back in half an hour. Oh and I'll get you a coffee."

"Thank you," Chris yelled after her.

He directed his attention back to his paper dragging his pencil across it. Chris was in the process of adding a small eagle on the horizon of a rather beautiful landscape when the door opened again. It was a young woman; pretty, petite, and blonde.

"Hello, um this is like a store with natural remedies and stuff, right?" she asked.

"For some things, yes," Chris answered after a moment. He shook his head to dislodge the thoughts of Karen Beecher. The resemblance between the two women was uncanny. "What kind of remedy are you looking for?"

"Just something to help with sleeping. I've been having trouble falling and staying asleep lately, but I have this aversion to pills so I'm looking for something natural," she said.

"Well," Chris said standing up to pick out the items, "We have several things that may help. Valerian for one. You drink the tea around an hour before you go to bed. It will take two to three weeks to take effect though so—"

"I kind of need it now," she said smiling wanly.

"Ok, so Valerian is out. We have Melatonin supplements. It's a sleep hormone and you'll take it about thirty minutes before you go to bed. Is the insomnia stress or anxiety related?"

The woman nodded her head.

"Right. We have Chamomile and Sage tea. Both will help you relax and reduce anxiety. You can also try some aromatherapy. Lavender is especially helpful."

"I think I'll try the teas and the aromatherapy first. If they don't help I'll be back for the Melatonin."

"Alrighty," Chris said picking out what she requested, "Lavender for the aromatherapy?"

"Whatever works best."

"Oils or incense?"

"Both."

Chris nodded gathering everything and ringing her up. "Your total is—"

"Do you have anything for nightmares?" she asked suddenly.

Chris blinked. "Um, well the only thing I can think of is a dream pillow." He moved to the back of the store stopping at some shelves piled with small draw string bags.

"How do they work?"

"You fill the bag with certain herbs, scents, and a few personal trinkets that help you relax. Then you place the bag in your pillow case. The herbs release fragrances that calm you before you sleep and the trinkets emit positive energy. You'll have to replace the herbs regularly," Chris explained.

"But they do work?" she asked dubiously.

Chris smiled reassuringly. "Have for me. Pick out a bag you like and I'll get you the right herbs to put in it."

She did as he said and Chris picked out several herbs and scents for her. "The total is $59.63."

The blonde whistled lightly. "That's kind of expensive," she said pulling out her checkbook.

"The good stuff always is. Can I see your driver's license?" he asked.

She pulled it out and set it on the counter. Chris copied down the number he needed and glanced at the name. Cheryl Beecher.

Chris looked up at the woman. "Beecher?"

"Yes," she replied guardedly.

"Beecher," Chris repeated. "Then you're Karen's…"

"I'm Karen's sister. You knew her?" Cheryl asked surprised.

"Well, um, kind of…but not really. We were just acquaintances," Chris stuttered not entirely sure how explain his knowing Karen. He couldn't exactly say he'd watched her die. Yeah, that would go over _real_ well.

"Oh," Cheryl said. "What's your name?"

"Chris. Chris Halliwell," he replied shaking her hand.

"Halliwell, Halliwell. Are you related to Phoebe Halliwell by any chance?" she inquired.

Chris smiled and nodded. "I'm her nephew."

"Wow. Small world, huh? Karen was a big fan of your aunt, talked about her all the time. Don't think she mentioned you though," Cheryl mused.

"Don't think she'd ever had a reason to. Like I said, we didn't know each other that well. I'll have to tell Phoebe Karen was such a big fan."

Cheryl studied him closely. "You're using past tense. So I take it you know about…about what happened?" she asked softly.

Chris nodded. _More than you actually_, he thought. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

Cheryl gave him a small smile. "Thank you. It was sudden, you know, and I never ever expected anything like this to happen in a million years. It was always the sort of thing you heard about, but were never affected by. I keep blaming myself because I was supposed to fly in from Phoenix earlier, but I delayed. And now I've had to fly in for her murder case."

"It's not your fault. One cannot take the blame for the ways of Fate," Chris said.

"No. No I suppose not," Cheryl said taking her bags.

Chris hesitated then picked up a business card scrawling his cell number on the bottom. "You know what, since you're not from around here and all, don't be afraid to call if you need anything. Oh and let me know how the teas and dream pillow work."

"Thank you," Cheryl said politely taking the card. "You are very kind, Chris. I hope God shines upon you."

"And you," Chris replied. Cheryl smiled and left. Chris watched her walk away shrinking into the distance.

**00:00**

Cheryl leapt back, barely avoiding the horn blaring taxi, and almost dropping her bags from Grand Design. She sighed pressing her hand to her chest to calm her racing heart. _Christ, Cheryl. You're gonna get yourself killed_, she chastised herself. Her mood immediately darkened with the thought. Giving herself a mental shake, she looked both ways before carefully crossing the street again. She walked down the block heading for the small motel room she was calling home while she stayed in San Francisco.

Cheryl swallowed dryly at the thought. She was at the motel because she couldn't stay with Karen. She couldn't stay with Karen because Karen was dead. Cheryl unlocked the door placing her bags on the table and clicking on the television to fill the silence. She had always regarded herself as a practical and realistic girl. Dead is dead. You say it and move on. But she was having trouble saying it and moving on.

Karen had been her big sister. Cheryl had never thought of a world without her. She was just _always_ there, even when Cheryl had thought she wanted Karen gone. Now Karen really was gone. The news hadn't really sunk in all that deep, and Cheryl found herself expecting each phone call, each text, each knock on the door to be her sister. It never was.

She turned to the kitchen area and stopped. There were three bowls sitting upside down on the counter. Cheryl frowned. _Did I put those there? _She could add forgetful to the list of things she regarded herself as. She sighed, irritated, and grabbed the closest bowl. She reached for the next one and dropped it with a scream. The bowl shattered on the floor and a spider the sized of her thumb scurried across the table. Cheryl screamed again snatching the tissue box and smashing it on top of the arachnid over and over. "DIE! DIE YOU STUPID SPIDER! DIE!" she yelled.

Cheryl stopped her homicidal attack only when she was sure the eight-legged creeper was no more than a smear on the hard surface. She got a paper towel and wiped off the bottom of the tissues before returning the now squished box to its place. She scrubbed off the countertop, then flushed the paper towel down the toilet. Couldn't be too careful. She turned over the last bowl, peeking under it and ready to snap it back down at the slightest indication of any eight or six-legged fiends. Finding nothing she put the bowl with the others, and swept up the shattered fragments of the one she'd dropped.

Finished and positive no more creepy crawlers were lying in wait for her, Cheryl picked up her phone and dialed the hated, familiar number. She held a hand to her mouth struggling to keep the tears at bay while she listened to it ring over and over. Why could he never answer? Did he care that little about either of them?

The phone clicked going to the answering machine. "_Hello_. _You've reached the Martin residence. If you're looking for Alan,_ _Victoria, Shawn, Alice, Jared, Sam, Caroline, or me, Melinda leave a name, number, and the message and we'll call back as soon as possible, bye." _Cheryl smiled weakly at the sound of her youngest half-sister's voice, but even it couldn't dispel the despair settling over her having to listen to it again. She cleared her throat gruffly. "Hey Alan, it's me. Again. The police and I have been trying to reach you, but as you can tell we can't. Call me when you get this," she paused swallowing thickly. God she couldn't believe she was going to say this. "I need you to call me Dad," she whispered, "Please."

Cheryl hung up, clicking the cell closed. She held it close, clasping a hand over her mouth. She wiped at the escaped tears on her cheeks, sniffling slightly and tossed the phone on the bed.

Pulling out Karen's family album, one of the things the police had returned to her, she curled up comfortably in one of the plush chairs. Cheryl flipped through the pages, memories stirring in her mind as the pictures flew by. _Oh Karen,_ she thought running a finger over a picture of her and her sister during a family picnic. _You were all I had left. What am I going to do without you?_

**00:00**

"Hello, Grand Design. Chris speaking. How may I help you?"

"You could start by answering your cell phone."

"Darrel?" Chris asked dropping his feet from the counter. "What are you talking about?" He grabbed his phone from the desk. Five missed calls. Oops

"I tried calling you ten times, Chris," Darrel answered.

"Five," Chris interjected.

"Whatever. Why didn't you answer?"

Chris shrugged. "Had it on vibrate and sitting on the desk. I didn't hear it."

Darrel sighed. "It doesn't matter. Listen someone recognized that portrait you drew."

"What?" Chris said. "You know who he is?"

"No. We don't know who he is, but someone picked the guy out as a suspect for a different case, one we didn't even think was connected. Now we're not too sure," Darrel said.

"What kind of case?"

"A missing persons. Girl disappeared about two weeks ago. No one's seen or heard of anything since. I want you to come check out the crime scene with me."

Chris bit his lip. He wanted to help, he really, really did. But he didn't want to take another trip down memory lane with a new potential murder victim.

Darrel seemed to sense his hesitation. "No deep mojo stuff. Just to talk with the woman that picked out our guy and a quick empathic sweep of the house. No memory lanes today."

"Alright," Chris relented, "Can you come get me?"

"Sure can. I'll be there in ten." The phone clicked as Darrel hung up.

Chris rolled his eyes at the device. "Someone needs to teach you manners, Darrel," he muttered.

**00:00**

"And you are absolutely sure this is the same man?" Darrel said holding out the copy of the picture.

The woman stared at it intently, taking a long drag on her cigarette. "Absolutely. I only saw Em's man twice, but boy was he a looker, and that is definitely him."

"Do you know his name?" Chris asked.

"Nope," she replied. "Knew Em kinda well, she was real private, but never was properly introduced to her man."

"So you have no idea as to what his name is?" Darrel asked.

"That's what I said. Could be Bill, John, Craig, or even Leslie for all I know. I don't got a name to give you."

"Alright. Thank you for your time, ma'am." Darrel turned gesturing for Chris to follow. Once they were well out of earshot Darrel leaned down whispering gruffly in Chris's ear: "She tell the truth?"

Chris nodded. "Up straight and honest as they come Darrel," he said as they approached Emily Brent's, the missing woman, house. It was a small plain thing. White with faded blue trim and an adequately kept front yard, it held a used but homey feeling. Inside was much the same, holding a familiar atmosphere that made everyone feel at ease instantly.

Darrel led Chris to the kitchen where a stern looking brunette woman dressed in a crisp business suit was standing next to the table.

"So what makes you think your serial killer is connected with my missing person?" she asked without preamble upon seeing the two males.

"Molly Ridon identified our Serial John Doe as the boyfriend of Emily Brent," Darrel answered. "I wasn't aware they were sending someone from your department."

"They don't tell you everything Inspector Morris. Who is that?" she asked jerking her head at Chris.

Chris took the initiative, stepping forward and extending his hand. "Chris Halliwell," he said.

The woman ignored him turning to Darrel. "The psychic? You brought the psychic?" she said disbelievingly.

Chris bit down his instant sarcastic and insulting remark. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to do that to this woman. The whole psychic skepticism routine was starting to get old though and rub raw nerves. Seriously. Didn't _anybody _besides Darrel realize how much he and his family helped them on the more difficult and demonically inclined cases? Probably not because of the whole magic exposure thing, but really. After all apparently the Halliwell name was rather popular in law enforcement.

_I'm calling you Mousie_, Chris thought bitterly, _since you neglected to introduce yourself like a polite and well mannered person._

"I did. He's a consultant on this case. Without him we wouldn't even know what the guy looked like," Darrel stated. "Chris. Take a look around. See if you can tell what happened to Brent, but be careful." In other words, none of what happened yesterday.

Chris nodded and left the room ignoring Mousie's glare. _Let the two adults talk things out while the kid does all the work_, he thought sardonically.

He probed around the house, shifting through the many emotions flowing in the atmosphere. There were none that pointed towards foul play. No glaring pain. No fear. And most importantly, no death. Whatever had happened to Emily, it hadn't happened here. She had been very much alive when she was here last. _Had been?_ Chris frowned and felt his heart drop. Emily Brent was dead. He was certain.

Chris wandered back to the kitchen, knocking lightly on the door frame to get Darrel's and Mousie's attention.

"Get anything?" Darrel asked.

"Emily was alive when she was here last. What happened to her didn't happen here," Chris said. "I felt nothing pointing to death or even fear."

"Wait. You mean there's a chance she's still alive somewhere?" Mousie asked earnestly. At least she cared about her missing people.

Chris looked at Darrel and shook his head. "No. Wherever she is, she is very much dead."

The woman stared at him. "You sure?" asked Darrel.

"Positive."

Darrel sighed. "Did you see it?" he asked worry tingeing his words.

"No," Chris paused, "I just know."

"You 'just know' that my missing person is dead?" Mousie said disbelievingly.

Chris glared at her but didn't retort. "Where's her bedroom?" he asked Darrel instead.

Mousie clenched her jaw and Darrel answered softly, "Upstairs. Last door on the left." Chris nodded.

"Well how the hell do you know?" Mousie demanded again.

Chris arched an eyebrow at her. She was ticking him off. "Well gee Jo," he said sweeping Mousie's mind for her real name, "maybe it's because I'm a _psychic_."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Chris," Darrel warned.

"How did you know my name?" Jo asked quietly.

"I'm gonna take a look at the bedroom now," Chris said ignoring Jo's question.

Darrel nodded and Chris took it as a go ahead. He left the kitchen, climbing the stairs heading to the last door on the left. People generally conducted their most personal and therefore emotionally charged activities in the bedrooms. Thus they were an information goldmine for a person like Chris. Tragically, they also tended to be entirely embarrassing and emotionally unsettling, you know, considering everything that went on in them. Too bad.

Chris pushed the door open slowly peering around the room. It was neat, but not overly clean with an light and airy color scheme. The walls were beige, the carpet brown, and the fabrics a creamy white. Books cluttered cases and a desk, and clothes were strewn about here and there. The bed was unmade and there was an empty water glass on the nightstand. It appeared untouched.

He took a deep breath delving into the memories carefully, pulling back whenever he felt control slipping. Whether he told Darrel or not, the last time he lost control of his psychometry like yesterday had been…well a _long_ time ago. Nothing like that had happened since he was a child and it disturbed him to no end. He'd always been in control. Not that he would tell anyone, especially not Darrel. The man didn't need to be worrying about him.

He growled in frustration trying to sort through the information he was getting and pick out what was important. God, she was a boring person. He hadn't noticed before downstairs, but thinking back, the girl never seemed to have company. In fact he could barely find a sign of another living being having been in the house, let alone a boyfriend. Sheesh, she was a loner even more than he was. Not that Chris thought he was…but Wyatt always said it.

Chris sighed pacing the room. He turned at the window then spun back to it. His gaze landed instantly on the fence around the backyard, particularly one corner. There was tug on his psyche, almost a voracious _need_ to get to the fence. There was just something about it.

That settled it. He was down the stairs and out the back door before he realized his decision to go. Walking up to the fence, there no marks of anything out of the ordinary. A lovely little flowerbed that contained no squished plants or footprints of any kind, and a sturdy white fence with no broken boards, fresh nails, or scuff marks.

Nevertheless, Chris found himself vaulting over and landing gracefully on the other side. He turned back glancing at the slightly tall tree's now concealing Brent's house from his view. He focused his attention forward again. A small part of his brain told him he should have informed Darrel instead of doing what he was doing, but he quickly ignored it.

He was standing at the edge of what appeared to be some sort of construction site. There was a chain link fence flush up against Brent's wooden one, piles of wood and metal, the framework for a building and sheets of plastic hanging down from just about everywhere. Chris could make out the shadows of a few large machinery in places. The site seemed to be abandoned, having a feeling of neglect, but it also seemed to be a work in progress. Just delayed for some reason; the point being no one had been here for a while.

The dirt was pounded hard from many feet making individual footprints nearly impossible to pick out. Chris weaved his way through the plastic hangings, pushing them out of his path as he feet moved on autopilot. He knew where he was going, but he didn't. But he did. He knew where he was going, he just didn't know what 'where' was.

Chris stopped at a large plank laying flat on the ground with large orange marked stakes around it complete with caution tape. Well if that didn't scream danger, Chris didn't know what did. Well, you know, aside from a person _actually_ screaming 'Danger!'.

He ducked under the tape, subconsciously noting that this was a dumb idea, and grasped the edge of the board to pull it up. Grunting with the effort he gave the board a shove of telekinesis, frustrated when it took way more effort than it normally would.

"Damn freakin' power stealing demons," Chris cursed as he struggled against the board. It flipped back finally, falling against the stakes and revealing a large sink hole in the ground. Chris heaved a sigh of relief and stepped forward, peering into the darkness. The hole was deep, the bottom cloaked in shadows.

There was fear in the hole. The same bone chilling fear Chris had felt at Karen's house. Chris shifted trying to see into the shadows at the bottom, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Something was wrong. Darrel, he decided, definitely time to go get Darrel.

He stood quickly and his heart leapt to his throat when the ground dropped beneath him.

**00:00**

Darrel sighed scrubbing his hands over his face. Jo Harper stood in front of him, sour expression plastered permanently on her face.

"Look," he said reasonably. "I'm not trying to interfere with your case. I just—"

"Not trying to interfere? Your '_consultant' _just told me my missing person is dead. You're relying on a _teenage_ psychic for your case. It's unprofessional," Harper said angrily.

Darrel bit back another sigh. "If Chris says Brent is dead it is because he believes with the utmost sincerity that she is. I'm sorry, but if Chris says she's dead, she's dead."

Jo huffed. "So what exactly? Are you just going to listen to a boy about a police case?"

"Yes actually I am. Chris knows what he's talking about."

"You know something Morris? The others were right about you," Harper said, "You do whatever you think is right to solve cases don't you? How do you know that boy isn't involved somehow and that's how he knows everything? Maybe you're just covering up for those Halliwells, you and your dead partner both."

Darrel clenched his jaw, snuffing down the urge to deck the woman. Taking jabs at Chris, himself, or any of the Halliwells he could handle, let it roll off him because he knew it wasn't true. But to insult Andy, Andy who'd died a hero protecting the girls, was going way too far.

"Now you listen here," Darrel said dangerously, "Andy Trudeau was a good cop who died protecting good people. Don't you ever think you can insult him like that. And I've know the Halliwells for a long time. I've known Chris practically all his life so don't go saying things about him or his family because none of them would ever do something to hurt another human being." He was careful to specify the 'human' part.

Harper was silent, not saying anything or moving an inch. "Working with a psychic is unprofessional."

"It's not unprofessional if the psychic knows his trade," Darrel answered.

"This kid," Jo said softly, "he really what he says he is?"

"He knew your name."

"Did you tell him?"

"No."

Harper scrutinized him and sighed. "This case is big, Darrel. Does your psychic know anything else?"

Darrel shook his head. "Chris isn't God. He doesn't know everything."

"Pity. He'd be more help," Jo said.

Darrel resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. _That_ would be unprofessional. He settled for a soft sigh turning away from Harper. He rubbed the bridge of his nose wondering where Chris was and if he'd found anything else more of use.

He walked over to the stairs shouting up to the younger boy. "Chris? Did you find anything?"

Darrel frowned when there wasn't an answer. Sudden fear flooded him that Chris had gotten sucked into another psychic attack. He rushed up the stairs, opened the door to the bedroom expecting to see Chris and stopped short at the sight of the empty room.

"What? Your psychic run off now?" Jo asked irritably. Darrel turned surprised having not realized she'd followed him. He ignored her comment moving down the hallway to look for the missing witch.

He heard Harper huff behind him just a the unmistakable sound of a scream filled the air. It cut off abruptly. He looked at Harper as they both immediately palmed their weapons.

"Outside," Jo said shortly. The two cops made their way outside alert for any danger. Darrel looked around quickly, glancing up and down the street trying to determine the direction of the yell.

"Around back," he said hearing another shout. It was muffled and punctuated as if the person was struggling. He ran around the house seeing only a white fence lined with trees and flowers and an empty small yard. The shouts were definitely coming from the other side of the fence. Darrel moved over to the fence noting the fresh foot prints in the soil of the flower bed. He holstered his gun gripping the top of the fence to climb over. Jo followed him, landing with thud beside him. They were in a construction site. Darrel drew his weapon again peering around at the plastic sheets and piles of wood.

The yells were louder now as Darrel moved through the site and accompanied by splashes. Darrel caught his name in the shouts and instantly picked up his pace.

"Chris!" he called back loudly, suddenly very sure that was who it was and trying to let the boy know he was on his way. He moved through the maze of the half built foundation layout, following the cries as best he could.

**00:00**

Chris stumbled grabbing at the ground with his hands. Fear of his own raced through him as the dirt crumbled and he slid into the hole.

He cried out in shock, his first instinct to orb, but nothing happened. He plummeted downward, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of the sure to be painful landing, and screamed again when he made a splash instead of a splat.

Gasping he immediately swallowed a mouthful of brackish water. He thrashed desperately for something solid, his hands meeting nothing but yielding water. He kicked his feet frantically, pushing himself to what he hoped was the surface.

Moments later his head broke the surface. Chris sucked in air greedily, shouting again and trying stifle his panic. He groped out to either side, seeking something to hold on to. The mud was slippery offering no handholds, only a sure slide back into the water.

"Darrel!" Chris screamed pushing the call both verbally and telepathically. He had no idea if Darrel would hear him and that thought threatened to frighten him more. "Darrel!"

He continued shouting as the water grew thicker trying to engulf him. He squeezed his eyes closed clawing desperately at the yielding liquid. His clothes were heavy pulling him down in the water. Struggling, he managed to wriggle his way out of his hoodie, slipping under the water completely at times, and kick off his shoes.

He scrabbled at the sides of the hole, fingers sliding through the slick mud like a hot knife through butter. He couldn't find a grip, slipping repeatedly back into the dark water. Chris choked back a sob as the memories filtered through his head. Things he didn't want to remember now or ever again.

He screamed again, the sound tearing from his throat almost involuntary as he fought to get out of the imaginary car sinking underneath the cold water of the bay. He remembered how his mother's hair had floated around her blank face tinged green by the water. He remembered the biting pain on his head and the searing fire in his chest. Remembered Jordan reaching out to be saved and not having the strength to pull him to safety. Remembered the fear and hopelessness of being trapped as the car filled with water. Of not being able to focus and save the others in the car with him.

Chris sputtered spitting out a mouthful of water. He pulled himself together, repeating over and over that he wasn't in that car, that he was alone, that no one was with him, that he wasn't stuck in a sinking death trap. He froze allowing a small cry of relief when he heard Darrel yell his name from above. It sounded distant, but at least Darrel had heard him.

"Darrel!" He shouted again keeping his panic tucked tightly just under the surface. He wanted out of this hole, out of this water. "_Darrel_!" He didn't eve care that he sounded panicky, shaky. He wanted out.

"Chris!" A dark silhouette knelt over the opening.

Chris let out a hysterical chuckle followed by a distressed confirmation. "Here. Please get me out."

A muffled swear word reached his ears followed by a command obviously directed to someone else. "Hang on Chris. We'll try to find a rope here. Are you okay?"

Chris gulped trying to take deep steadying breaths and failing miserably. "There's…there's water. There's water Darrel. Why is there so much water? I can't. I can't get out." He shivered not at all sure if it was from the overwhelming panic or temperature of water. "I can't get out."

"Hey. No Chris. You're fine," Darrel said, "we're gonna get you out, okay? Just hold on."

"There's…there's nothing…here to hold on…to."

"Just try and relax, Chris. You'll be out soon. Just relax and keep your head above the water, alright?" Darrel soothed moving around the edge of the hole to try and get a better view of the witch. He could just make out Chris's shadow.

Chris gasped, trying to follow Darrel's suggestions and still searching blindly for a handhold. Something or anything solid would do. He shoved at the memories searing his mind, forcing them back. He stretched out further for the opposite wall. Maybe it was solid. Maybe it was stone instead of mud.

He touched something clammy and slick. Not rock but not mud either. He grasped it hoping it was solid and tugged a little to pull himself closer. Whatever it was gave way sliding into the water beside him. It made a sloshing sound and as it slid Chris's hand was dragged down across something that almost felt like cloth.

A cold gripped Chris's chest tightly and he froze wanting to let go but unable to break his grip. Dread and disgust seized him forcing a strangled whimper from his cold lips.

"Chris?" Darrel called immediately. "Hang on they're almost here."

Chris didn't need to ask who they were as he moved his lips soundlessly trying to force the words out. "Darrel?" he whispered. He exhaled sharply, the new knowledge hitting him like a freight train and nearly forcing all previous panic out to be replaced with horror. "Darrel?" he repeated. "I…I think I found Emily."

* * *

**Hmmm. Evil me considering there probably won't be another update very soon. I'll try though REALLY I will. Maybe I can write during Chem class...yes good idea. :)**

**Anyhoo...please review?**

**AN: Just wanted to say a few things. **

**First...I have no idea where Cheryl came from. I was just writing along and in she walks into GD and I'm like "who the heck are you?" and she's like "Cheryl" and I'm like "Well I don't do OFC, get out before I make you get hit by a truck!" and she's like "NO! I'm running this part of the story!" and I was like "Shoot, you are: *hangs head* It's taking on a life of its own. I should worry but oh well.**

**Second...Jo Harper kinda did the same thing. Darrel and Chris walked into Brent's house and she was just _there_. I kinda like her though cause she's just a third character person. Picture Michelle Rodriguez if you will.**

**Thirdly...I'm just winging most of this so if the not totally accuarte police stuff bothers you...oh well *shrugs* I get most of the stuff from shows which I'm entirly aware are most defiently not the most authentic.**

**Lastly...I hope to update The Other Side soon and finish some of my one shots. :)**


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